


A Sharing, Caring Kind of Mood

by Infie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-26
Updated: 2005-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infie/pseuds/Infie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers: Asylum</p><p>Dean and Sam have it out during the car ride back to the hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sharing, Caring Kind of Mood

The mood in the car was dark. Definitely not a 'sharing, caring' kind of atmosphere. Sam shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, wincing as the movement jarred his still aching jaw. Dean had a punch like a damned mule.

Given how stubborn he was, that might not be a coincidence.

Still, it had saved them both.

He remembered everything, even the pat on his back and the quietly muttered, "Sorry, Sammy." The hated nickname had shot another burst of rage through his muzzy head, but it hadn't been enough to shake the mists loose. Neither had listening to Dean struggle with the mad, dead doctor. Only the monster's death had freed him from the thrall. Then, of course, the embarrassment made him wish he'd been neatly unconscious for it all.

They drove in silence. Sam stole quick glances at his brother's set face. Each time, the grim tenseness and compressed lips were the same. No question, Dean was pissed. Each time, he reminded himself of that soft, calm apology and clung to the hope it represented. Maybe Dean would be able to forgive him.

Another quick look. Now Dean's teeth were actually gritted.

Maybe.

Finally Sam couldn't take it any more. "You sure we shouldn't talk about this?"

"I don't see anything to talk about." Dean shrugged in that offhand way that always made Sam want to shake him. He goddamned knew his brother didn't feel the 'I don't care' disinterest that shoulder was supposed to convey.

"How about that I shot you?"

Dean shrugged again, twitched as the motion hurt. "Just hurt. Didn't kill me."

"I didn't mean the rock salt."

He shot Sam an expressionless look. "Maybe neither did I."

"Dean," Sam spread his hands helplessly. "It wasn't really me. I didn't mean it."

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously on the road ahead. He didn't speak.

"Really. What I said, what I did... it was what the doctor did to me. You know that. Why are you so pissed?"

Dean's jaw clenched. It was the only warning Sam got before his brother wrenched the wheel to the side and stomped on the brake. They skidded to the shoulder, throwing up a plume of gray dust as the tires hit the gravel. He hit the release on his seatbelt and was out of the car before Sam had a chance to sit back in his seat.

Sam blinked. Warily he took off his own seatbelt and opened the door. When he stood, it was between the car and the door to allow the chance to dive back inside if this became violent. Which, given the set of Dean's shoulders as he faced away from the car, was entirely possible.

"We stopped," he ventured tentatively.

"Why am I pissed?" Dean whirled on him like a striking snake. "You want to know why am I pissed?"

"Yeah, I do." Sam's temper was starting to rise too. His brother could be such a... mule.

"For a smart guy, you can be pretty damned clueless. You say you didn't mean any of it." Dean stated sarcastically. "None of it. Not a word."

"No."

"Really." He spread his hands. "Cause everything you said was an instant replay of what you've been saying over and over for the last month, Sam. 'Why are we here'; 'Why are we following Dad's orders'; 'You're desperate for his approval'; 'you don't have a mind of your own'." He glared at his brother hotly. "Everything you said was exactly how you feel, Sammy. And frankly, I was pretty sick of it before it came with a gun in my face."

Sam stepped back in shock, bumping into the door. He felt the blood drain from his face as he replayed that conversation in his head.

"Dean, you know I don't think that way," he said desperately. "Not the way it came out there."

Dean looked at him searchingly. "Look," he finally said tiredly. "Why did you call me when the ghost came at you?"

Sam frowned. "Cause you had the gun, and because I knew you'd use it."

Dean nodded. "And why do you call for me when you get into trouble?"

This time, the reply was slower. "Because I know you'll come."

"This isn't about ' _approval_ '." Dean spat out the word like it tasted bad. "It's about trust, Sam. Trust. You remember at the house, when I stepped between you and... Mom." He shook his head slightly. "Why do you think I did that?"

"To protect me." Sam still didn't see where this was going.

"And who do you think it was that stood between me and the big bad guys the last fifteen years, Sam? Who do you think I called when I needed help?" Dean slammed his hand on the top of the car. "It was Dad. And I am not going to stop looking, and I am not going to give up. Cause if it were me out there, he'd be looking for me as long as it took." His eyes were hot. "All those times when it was just him and me, it came down to trust. And I _never_ looked at him over the wrong end of a shotgun, Sam. And he sure as hell never actually pulled down on me. Never."

Sam's chest was tight. He couldn't speak.

"I know what the doctor did to you. I know it wasn't... quite you. Cause he was busy doing the same thing to me when I killed him. Killed him, not you. I'm trying to remember that; that it was him, not you. I'm trying. But I think it was maybe more you than either of us wants to admit. And I can't help wondering exactly where it stopped being you. If it stopped." He looked up at the sky. "And yeah, _yeah_ I'm pissed off."

"He was in your mind when you banished him. Maybe... maybe some of this is cause he enhanced your anger." {He'd said it, gently... 'Sorry, Sammy'. The cause wasn't lost.}

Dean tilted his head. "Maybe. Either way, I'm tired. I want to get some sleep." He stepped into the driver's seat with a practiced grace. "I figure at least now I can get some knowing you won't decide to kill me in my sleep. You'd do it to my face. Though I'll keep the knife under the pillow anyway." He started the car and gunned the engine, leaned over to look at Sam standing in the passenger doorway. "Just in case."

Sam stared at the trees for a long moment before getting in. "Next time," he said conversationally as he buckled his seatbelt and reached for the volume on the tape deck. "I'll remember - sharing is overrated."

Dean put the car in drive and pulled out in a welter of flying gravel. Sam sighed. He was definitely still pissed; an observation confirmed an instant later.

"Just so long as you don't forget - Trust isn't."

 

-30-


End file.
